


While You Were Sleeping

by tinypinkmouse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Family, Incest, M/M, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 00:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean said he'd do anything for Sam, he meant anything. He just never thought it'd include this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean woke up to the realisation that he was lying on something extremely uncomfortable. This wasn't the first time it had happened. In fact he had a disturbing habit of finding himself waking up in uncomfortable places. Usually after he'd been knocked unconscious by something. And occasionally because he'd gone to sleep there in the first place. The problem was that he was pretty sure that he'd gone to sleep in a reasonably comfortable motel bed and there was no reason why he shouldn't be waking up in the same place. What he shouldn't be doing was lying on something that felt very much like gravel.

Dean blinked and opened his eyes. Definitely gravel. And what looked like grass a bit further away.

He groaned as he sat up. Dean could now with certainty say that lying on gravel while wearing nothing but boxers was an experience he was in no hurry to repeat. As he looked around he tried to brush of the smaller pieces that were stuck to his skin. He was also making a firm decision that from now on he was going to wear a t-shirt to bed every night.

What he'd woken up on and was now sitting on was in fact a road, a gravel road. And yes there was grass, with some twigs and dead leaves and trees. That was about all he could see from his current position. Also it was definitely daytime.

Would it have been too much to ask to leave him on the grass instead of the road? That was just being mean.

"Finally. Took you long enough to wake up." A voice grumbled from behind.

Dean whipped his head around.

It was Ellen. Or at least something that looked a lot like Ellen. Because last he remembered he'd been three states over from the Roadhouse and he didn't really think Ellen would be wearing _that._

That being a sheer white dress that stopped above the knee, was cut rather low and clung in all the right places. For some completely strange reason she was also wearing a pair of light pink fairy wings of the kind you usually saw on very young girls on Halloween or on a completely different kind and definitely older girl… which Dean wasn't thinking of at all at that moment.

Damn… maybe he'd been looking at the wrong Harvelle. That was something he was most definitely not going to think about the next time he saw Ellen. The real one. Because the lady could be scary.

"Right lets get this started," the woman who wasn't Ellen and probably not really a woman, at least a human one said and pushed herself away from the tree she'd been leaning against.

She walked toward Dean who suddenly scrambled to his feet as fast as he could. And ow. Bare feet on gravel hurt.

Dean jumped over on the grass and realised that not-Ellen was standing just a few steps away from him, giving him the kind of look that Ellen just shouldn't be giving him. A slow appreciative look that made him want to do his best at covering himself with his arms. He didn't because that would have made him look even more ridiculous than standing around in his boxers and Dean didn't get embarrassed in situations like that. But Ellen!

"I know that which thou art seeking good sir," not-Ellen said with a straight face, her eyes finally looking at Dean's face.

Dean blinked. Ok, this was just getting weirder by the second. And it was fucking weird enough to begin with.

Not-Ellen looked at him meaningfully and waited.

"Alright, whoever you are…"

"Yes," not-Ellen almost yelled out, and gave him that look he usually got for looking at Jo for too long. "Yonder lies the castle where thy true love lay sleeping." She thrust her hand out pointing down the road.

He looked that way and couldn't see anything else than the road and some trees.

"Look lady just tell me what the hell is going on here." Dean was sure there was a better way of handling this, but he'd just woken up in boxers in the middle of a damn forest, with some weird woman who looked like Ellen and he was not feeling his best.

"I'm trying to stay in character here," she complained. "You're not helping."

Dean thought about punching her, but he had no idea what she was and he had no weapons. He didn't even have clothes. It might make things worse.

"Don't tell me, you're supposed to be the fairy godmother."

She looked at him and pointed at the pink wings with sparkles on them.

"Right." Dean muttered. This wasn't just weird, it was downright crazy.

"Now sweetie, try to play along."

"I'm really not…"

"Do not despair," she interrupted with a slight glare. "A true heart shall conquer even trough the darkest hour."

"What the hell…" She glared at him. Dean hesitated for a moment. "Dost…? Doth… that mean?"

Not-Ellen smiled encouragingly. "I wished to speak words of encouragement, for time doth grow short and thou must hurry lest thy true love be lost in sleep eternal."

Dean thought about that for a moment. "My true love?" He asked at last. The rest made some sort of sense at least. Well someone might be dying… or something.

"Yea, thou must rescue thy true love." It was clear that she was starting to think that he wasn't too bright.

"Who…?"

She shook her head, with a long suffering look. "You know. Sammy. Ringing _any _bells here?"

"Where is he?" Dean asked sharply.

Not-Ellen sighed. "Yonder lies the castle where thy true love lay sleeping," she pronounced tightly.

"You're not going to tell me anything more are you?"

"You really aren't getting into the spirit of this." She looked at him with some reproach. "Fine then. Stroke of midnight, that's how long you have. And I really wanted to get that into a nice sentence." She pointed again. "That way."

"Anything else?"

"Sorry, you'll have to figure out the rest for yourself."

Well, standing around in a forest wasn't going to help him. He might as well start walking. Since he really couldn't do anything about the woman at that particular moment.

"You know we're brothers, right?"

"Are you ever going to love anyone more than Sam?" She countered.

Dean shrugged. That was fair enough observation.

Not-Ellen grabbed him suddenly and Dean was going to do something about it, except that there were lips and tongue and he got slightly distracted and instead ended up pulling her closer.

It was a very nice kiss.

"For luck," she smirked as she pulled away. Then she… vanished. In a sort of sparkly, pinkish cloud.

"I'm never mentioning this to Ellen." Shaking his head Dean started walking in the direction she'd pointed out. Not like he had much of a choice.

It didn't take him all that long to walk out of what turned out to be not much of a forest after all. It wouldn't have taken as long as it did if he'd had shoes at least. Forget sleeping with a t-shirt, from now on he was sleeping fully clothed. And armed. A knife under the pillow was clearly not enough.

One of the first things Dean noticed as he got away from the trees was that he wasn't actually too far from the motel where he should have been waking up. He headed that way. It was his best bet for finding out what the hell was going on here. Not to mention the fact that he was missing his clothes and weapons. If he was really lucky he might even find Sam.

Yeah, right.

There was something seriously wrong with the town. It was freakily quiet, even for a quiet small town. Quiet as in not a single person anywhere.

That's until he saw the motel manager. Who just happened to be lying half way through the front door to the main office. That was not a good sign.

He was lying with his back toward Dean. He grabbed a shoulder to turn the guy around.

Warm shoulder.

He looked at the guys chest rising.

Breathing.

Definitely not dead then.

And no injuries that Dean could see.

"Hey, you alright?" He asked, trying to shake the guy.

Nothing.

"Ok." Dean looked around, but nothing else seemed out of place. "You just wait right there." He patted the guy on the shoulder, before stepping over him. He didn't have a key to his room and there should be a spare somewhere.

Armed with the room key and a pair of scissors, the only thing resembling a weapon he could find, Dean slowly opened his room door. Everything was just like it should be. Or at least the way it had been when they went to sleep. And no Sam. Everything else was there though.

The first thing Dean went for was his phone. It turned out to be completely dead. So was Sam's which he had realised was still with rest of Sam's things.

After that Dean found himself some clothes, weapons and the EMF meter. The motel room turned out to be clean. Dad's journal didn't give him any clues either. There was nothing.

By now it'd been hours since he'd woken up and he still had no clue what was going on or where Sammy was. And apparently he was working with a deadline, if he believed the freaky fairy.

That was just great.

"Fine so… guess there's just the creepy fairy godmother." Who'd sounded like she was in a bad school play, but she had been talking about castle's and sleeping. Not to mention the whole true love stuff. "Sleeping Beauty?"

A fairy tale? Well, it made some sense. He still didn't know how they'd got caught up in whatever this was.

Maybe he should just follow the fairy godmother's advice. God, that was so wrong. On so many levels.

He hadn't seen all that many castles around though and it wasn't a very big place. He doubted there were any castles lurking anywhere close.

It was a very small town though.

"Fuck this." He slammed the door behind him.

"Oh, baby. It's so good to see you," he patted the Impala gently before getting in.

A small place, so it shouldn't be too difficult to find something that would pass for a castle in this shitty re-enactment of a fairy tale.

Right?


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, that's definitely Sleeping Beauty."

He stared at the house quite literally covered in rose briars. Calling it a castle wasn't stretching the imagination, it was more like breaking it completely and then stomping on it for good measure. It was a house, a nice one maybe, but nothing special.

Probably the best you got in Hick-town, Middle of Nowhere.

Dean grabbed his favourite machete from the trunk and headed for the house. Not forgetting to tuck a gun into his waistband and the EMF meter was already inside his jacket.

Right, nothing to it. He'd go in there, get Sam and then they'd kill whatever the fuck was causing all of this.

He was thinking maybe a Trickster. That didn't explain all the sleeping people he'd found while looking for this stupid ass excuse for a castle. Didn't really explain the rest either, but the style sure fit.

"Well, whatever…" he muttered as he started swinging at the roses.

Turned out that wasn't the best idea ever.

The vines fought back. They reached out for him and before he'd had time to do anything about it he had thorny vines circling his arms and legs. They were ripping and scratching at him, sawing into his skin. Some of them crept up his throat attempting to strangle him. He pulled away, machete falling to the ground as he struggled to get his arms up and rip the vines from his neck.

As he managed to get a few steps back the vines let him go. He picked up the machete, bleeding from too many scratches and rubbing at his sore throat. Getting strangled by something with thorns was not his idea of fun, getting strangled in any way wasn't his idea of fun.

"This isn't how the story is supposed to go. Prince saves princes and those roses don't fucking touch him. Because of true love or some crap like that." If anyone had been around to ask Dean would have insisted that he'd seen an adult only version of the story. And no one would have dared mention the fact that he'd just cast himself as the prince to Sammy's princes. They wouldn't dare. "I love Sammy so you behave like your supposed to!" And he was yelling at flowers.

Surprisingly this actually worked.

Dean looked at the exposed door with suspicion. He gave the roses a look too for good measure before reaching for the door.

"Yup, love Sammy," he muttered under his breath. The vines didn't so much as twitch. He opened the door. A few vines started sneaking towards him. Dean took a step back.

"I'm going to get my brother and no shrubbery is going to stand in my way," he said with determination. The vines weaved hesitantly. "Because I love him?" He stated and gave the vines a questioning look. They pulled back sheepishly.

"Really weird."

Dean pulled out his gun and walked inside the house. It was a house. Nice, normal family home if somewhat dimly lit on account of all the windows being covered with roses. He walked through the living room gun at the ready, peered into the kitchen, checked the dining room, turning on the lights as he went. Nothing. Quiet and normal. Or at least nothing that screamed out 'evil supernatural thing, kill me now'.

No people at all either.

Quietly Dean walked up the stairs. Bedrooms.

He poked open the first door with his foot and looked inside. There were fluffy toys and lots of pink and a few posters of kittens. He'd seen a girl in some of the picture's downstairs, obviously this was her room. No girl in sight though. Dean walked into the room to have a closer look.

Still nothing.

The bathroom had nothing either. Neither did the spare bedroom.

Dean stopped in front of the last door. Master bedroom. The only place he hadn't checked yet. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The room was just as normal as the rest of the house. Except that the king sized bed had Sam laid out in it. Sleeping it seemed, but Sam didn't usually sleep straight as a board with a comforter pulled up to mid chest and his hands laying nicely on top of each other on his chest, right on the edge of said comforter.

In fact that looked creepy as hell.

He hurried to his brother's side.

"Sammy." Dean shook his brother's shoulder in an effort to wake him up. "Come on Sammy, wake up." It had just as little effect as his previous attempts to wake up any of the sleeping townspeople he'd found.

He tried tossing holy water at him, which only got Sam wet.

Dean slapped Sam hard enough that he'd probably be feeling it for awhile. If he woke up that was. He didn't.

Stupid ass fairy tales. This had better work.

"Never telling anyone about this." And he bent down over Sammy and pressed his lips against Sam's. The contact lasted for probably all of half a second before Dean pulled back. Sam was still breathing deeply and seemed to have no notions of waking up.

Dean sighed and pressed his lips against Sammy's again. This time the contact lasted longer. Sam's lips were cool and still under his own. He brought his head back up and looked at Sammy hopefully. Still nothing.

Disturbing _and _useless. Wasn't that special.

"I'm really starting to get pissed," Dean announced. "Sammy," he yelled, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. "Wake the fuck up," he said, shaking Sam with every word.

Sam kept on sleeping. Dean let him fall back on the bed.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? Sure, find out what was doing this and kill it. But he didn't even know where to begin. He had no idea what had happened. As far as Dean knew they'd just stopped for the night, nothing was supposed to be wrong here.

Not to mention that this was all so fucking stupid. It just didn't make any sense.

He'd checked the motel with the EMF meter. He should try this place next.

Twenty minutes later Dean was sitting on the bedside. That had been a waste of time. Not that he'd expected much since the house was covered in magical flowers. That was bound to screw with the readings. But it hadn't. There had been nothing. Again. Which again made no sense.

"I'm running out of ideas here Sammy."

He might be dreaming, but there wasn't exactly anything that pointed to that. Things were weird, but he'd been part of some pretty fucking bizarre things before and they'd been real enough.

He was also getting the sneaking suspicion that someone had been messing with his EMF meter.

"And that whole fairy tale thing turned out to be bullshit. She kept calling you my true love and beside making me feel awkward that means that you should be awake now. Kiss. That's how it works."

Sammy would have known more about fairy tales than Dean.

"Princes," he muttered toward Sammy with a small grin tugging at his lips.

So Dean knew the basics, who didn't, but it'd been ages since he'd read Sleeping Beauty.

"It was for school," Dean defended himself just in case. And decided to ignore the fact that there was no one around and he hadn't exactly been speaking. He was also ignoring that part where he'd ignored most of his school assignments as a kid.

"So if it's not…" Dean's words ground to a sudden halt. "No… Come on, it can't be that." Dean got up and started pacing. "You got to be kidding me. That's just… no. No."

But it did make sense. If this really was about the fairy tale and not someone's idea of a joke. If it was the latter nothing short of finding the source of this was going to wake up Sammy.

There was no way Dean was doing _that. _Which only left finding the thing responsible and he still wasn't getting any closer to doing that.

He'd just drag Sam out of here and out of the whole damn town, maybe whatever it was didn't work outside of the town.

Hell, it was worth a shot.

He had a plan then. Not a good one, but it was a plan. With some effort Dean managed to drag his brother's limp body downstairs. He went to open the front door. The moment the door opened a crack, thorny vines shot inside reaching for Dean.

He tried to slam the door back shut, but the vines were pushing it ever wider all the while snaking around Dean. He pulled away, pulling at the vines with his hands to get them off him. As soon as he tried to get away they seemed to just let go.

He looked at his torn up palms. He remembered trying to get in. There was no way he'd manage to get out of the house with an unconscious Sam.

He could just set the damn flowers on fire, but the way things were going he'd manage to torch the whole house and still not get out. He wasn't planning on letting Sammy die in a house fire anytime soon.

"Sammy," Dean stated while trying to drag him up from the floor. "I don't think we're going anywhere." He managed to sling one of his brother's arms around his shoulders and then manoeuvred Sammy to the couch.

He deposited his brother on the nice big couch. Sammy promptly slumped over side ways and with a shrug Dean pushed his brother's legs on the couch as well.

"Comfortable?"

He slid down to the floor and leaned against the couch. "Well, that cut down on the options."

What the hell was he supposed to do now?


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a few hours since Dean had had to admit that they weren't getting out of the house.

He was pretty sure that it was already dark outside, he couldn't really tell for sure since the windows were covered with magic flowers and weren't letting in any light anyway.

There was a constant scraping sound now of thorns against windows as the vines writhed in agitation. If he looked, he knew that some of the vines would be reaching inside the house from the still open door. Thankfully, they didn't come far, just far enough to let Dean know that getting close to the door again would be a bad idea.

It was damn creepy. Not that this whole thing hadn't had disturbing and creepy written all over it from the beginning. But this was a whole other kind of creepy, this was starting to be more like god damned fucking scary and creepy.

And that fucking scraping was driving him nuts.

Dean was still fresh out of any bright ideas. Right now he'd take any kind of idea, wouldn't need to be all that bright. He'd be happy to settle for a tiny spark of one, really. He wasn't picky.

He'd tried cutting the vines with pure iron. Sure it worked, kind of. It sliced through the vines easily enough and the pieces he managed to cut of fell down, withered. All it really did was make the damn thing pissed. Because all Dean had was a tiny little knife and the angry magic flower covered the whole house and there wasn't any way he'd manage to win that fight. Every time he cut a bit of it away there were new vines coming at him.

Basically, he could go poke at it from a window if he wanted to and that amounted to about as much as pricking your finger with a needle as far as injuries went. If he poked long enough it might actually do something, but he'd probably still be there slicing away at the damn rosebush next week with that approach.

He assumed the disturbing porn version of Ellen had meant this midnight, not midnight a week from now.

The house really didn't have anything that would help him. Dean had looked. There was normal stuff that you found in a normal home. The salt had made him feel better, but was about as useful as a security blanket. Salt seemed to do about as much to the rose briar as, well, throwing salt on any kind of plant really ever did. Not that he'd ever gone around sprinkling salt on flowers, but he didn't think that would have any immediate effect. Dean was sure Sam would have known that too.

And no, he hadn't forgotten to try holy water. It hadn't done anything more than the salt. No smoking, burning or shrivelling had happened. It had probably liked getting water thrown at it, holy or not. It was a plant. You were supposed to water them.

Whatever was doing this had them exactly where it wanted them. And midnight was getting closer by the minute.

There wasn't any way of telling if something was actually going to happen at midnight or not, but he couldn't really afford to assume it wouldn't. And there was still absolutely nothing Dean could do except sit there and wait.

Well no. There was the one thing. He just couldn't do that. Wouldn't even think about it. There wasn't any sort of proof it'd even work. Even if it did there was no way… just, no.

He'd figure out something.

He checked the time.

In the next two and a half hours. That was plenty of time to figure something out.

It wasn't like anyone had bothered to enlighten him as to what would happen to Sam on midnight. Even if it had sounded an awfully lot like "your brother will die" to Dean, that wasn't what she'd said. But waiting and hoping for the best just wasn't his style.

"He's my brother." Dean growled and threw his head backward, it hit the couch quietly. He craned his neck slightly, until he could just see Sam lying behind him on the couch. Dean closed his eyes. "My brother."

Damn it all to hell. There was no way Dean could just let Sam die, or whatever was supposed to happen, if there was anything at all he could try. Anything.

Quietly Dean pulled himself up and sat down on the edge of the couch. He looked down on Sammy. He looked pretty much like he was just sleeping, now that he wasn't laid out the way he'd been earlier.

Dean took Sam's hand in his own, feeling slightly ridiculous as he did so. It was dry and not as warm as it should have been. Not cold or anything, just not quite normal.

"Sammy," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for letting it come to this. I shouldn't even be thinking about… but I can't lose you either. And what if I do… _this _and I'm wrong?"

Dean drew in a harsh breath and blinked back the moisture in his eyes. "Whatever is doing this is probably sitting somewhere out there right now and laughing it's ass of at us."

Dean got up and went to the bathroom. He rifled through the bathroom cabinet.

"This'll do." He pulled out something. Closing the cabinet, he was left looking at his own reflection in the mirror.

He stared at his own eyes.

Dean forced his eyes away from the mirror and tried not to listen to the voice inside of him. The one that was screaming and wailing. It sounded a lot like someone who was just about ready to fall into a heap on the floor and cry.

He was going to hunt down and kill whatever was doing this. He would.

Dean stared at his brother.

"I'm not sure if I can do this Sammy."

An eternity later Dean was sitting next to his brother again.

Slowly he cupped Sam's cheek and bent down to press his lips against Sam's. Soft, unmoving, cool lips. Dean could feel his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He pulled away, knowing that Sam would still be asleep, but hoping with everything he had that he was wrong.

He could live with a kiss. It was embarrassing and awkward, but he could live with that. He didn't know if either of them could live with what Dean was about to do.

Sam was still wearing the same set of boxers and t-shirt he'd gone to bed with last night. White of course. The t-shirt had ridden up a bit, exposing some of Sam's well toned stomach. For a moment, Dean couldn't pull his eyes away from the sight.

His hand shook as he reached out and pressed it against that bit of exposed flesh. Sam still felt a bit too cool. He could feel the muscles under his palm, too still even with the slight up and down movement of his brother's breathing. Dean wanted to rip his hand away like the touch burned him.

He pressed his palm a bit more firmly against his brother's skin, steadying it against the toned flesh. His hand still trembled slightly as he moved it slowly. Jerkily he ran his hand sideways along Sam's stomach, then slightly smoother up under the t-shirt.

There was the faint trace of a scar he knew Sam had gotten when he was sixteen. Dean had patched it up himself. His hands hadn't been shaking then.

The light seemed too harsh now. Too bright against Sam's too pale skin. It made Sam look too vulnerable lying there completely helpless. Breathing too calmly, the slight movement steady under Dean's hand.

He forced his own breathing to settle.

Dean moved his hand again, traced the scar back downward. He knew Sam was toned, he'd seen enough of it, they lived too close for him not to. But he'd never _looked_ and definitely never touched. Why would he?

He was making himself look now and he couldn't deny the fact that his brother was attractive. Even now, all too still and pale, Dean could see the way that stupid hair would flop into his eyes and that ridiculous smile that would make Sam look far too innocent and young.

There was a tiny flicker of heat deep in his belly. Distant and barely there. Not even enough to notice normally.

Dean pulled in a harsh, shaky breath.

It was _Sam. _And Dean would do anything for Sam. Even this.

Dean moved his hand ever lower, until his fingers were touching Sam's boxers. His hand was shaking wildly.

The heat inside him flared up slightly. Slowly, reluctantly. Dean's fingers curled around the edge of the white boxers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs* I realise now that since I imported this from fanfiction.net that there's a different version of this chapter on my lj. It's not that different though, slightly more graphic maybe, but I think I might prefer this one anyway.

I'm too tired and achy to be posting this, I'm bound to screw it up somehow. But then, if I was feeling myself I probably wouldn't be posting it at all. I'm pretty sure I was really angry at this part for not turning out right. It is kind of crap really and that's not nice at all, some people seem to actually have been waiting for this and then I give them _this... _And I'm not at all sure if I managed to keep this apropriate to the rating, but I never really figured out those ratings anyway. *Sighs* Well there is a slightly different version of this chapter on my livejournal, but really it's very slightly different and I'm possibly even less happy with that than I am with this. Not worth the effort to read both versions.

Yeah... I'm in a good mood it seems. Sorry. Lets pretend the preceding paragraph sounds less... whiny, pathetic and whatever other adjective fits (there's many that would I'm sure) because I don't have the energy to figure out anything better to say or a better way to say it.

* * *

Dean tugged at the boxers a bit and they slipped about half an inch lower. He couldn't look away from his hand holding on to the fabric like his whole life depended on it. Dean's fingers were curled tight enough that the hand had almost stopped shaking. He moved his other hand to the boxers as well.

It took a pretty huge effort to unclench his hand enough so he could move it, but somehow he managed it and moved his hands. He gripped the waistband on either side of his brother's hips.

Dean shut his eyes and gulped in air in fast and short little breaths. A bit too short probably, since he was feeling a bit dizzy.

He made himself breathe out slowly and tried hard to focus on that tiny little flicker of heat inside that was turning colder by the minute. He thought about Amy from three nights ago, with her chocolate brown eyes, curly hair and playful smile. He thought about her smooth skin under his hands, of the soft curve of her hip, about tanned legs and soft thighs that spread open at a light touch.

He kept his eyes closed as he pulled at the boxers. His fingers brushed against Sam's cool skin when he wriggled the boxers out from under an unmoving ass. Dean blinked his eyes open when he pulled the boxers down a very long expanse of thigh that didn't feel especially soft or gentle under his hands. Any determination he'd had to think of something else crumbled, there was no way he could pretend this wasn't Sammy.

It really had nothing at all to do with the stupid small voice inside of him, that he'd never admit to out loud, telling him that Sammy deserved better than that.

It wasn't exactly easy to get the boxers of his unconscious, freakishly tall brother, but it wasn't the first time he'd undressed Sam. The familiarity was jarring, didn't quite seem to belong in this horribly strange moment. Of course most of the time Dean wasn't pulling of his brother's underwear when Sam was sleeping. That was so many kinds of wrong it didn't even bear thinking about.

Carelessly he tossed the white boxers to the floor and gave a brief look at Sam's face, half expecting his brother to be wide awake and pissed as hell. Dean thought he might just let Sam deck him if that had been the case, if Sammy was just awake. He wasn't. Of course he wasn't and Dean couldn't stand looking at the slack face or long.

His eyes drifted lower on Sam's body, going past the t-shirt still bunched up and leaving his stomach bare. His gaze stuttered to a halt and he couldn't move his eyes away from his brother's crotch. Sam's cock was nestled in dark curls, just as slack and dead to the world as the rest of him.

Man, was this ever fucked up.

Something flared in Dean's belly. It was fear, bone deep, soul crushing fear. But there was something else as well, something fierce and dark and just as strong. He'd never wanted to look at his brother and feel that. And not like this.

Not in any way, he amended quickly. Never.

But it was there. All mixed up and twisted together with everything he felt for Sammy. All the need, love, and protectiveness, the anger and betrayal and…

_Oh, fuck._

Dean scooted upward along his brother's body, letting one hand trail up along Sam's bare leg. Letting himself be reminded of who exactly it was he was touching, not that he needed a reminder of that. It was kinda hard to miss. And, damn it, that should not have made him feel better.

Then he was sitting on the side of the couch, his right jean clad hip brushing against Sam's naked one. A small shiver ran through him. He reached out hesitantly to touch his brother, ready to snatch the hand back at any moment.

Dean's hands weren't shaking quite as much anymore, but he knew there wasn't much chance of getting over that anytime soon. Because god fucking damn it, this was not how you were supposed to touch your _brother._

A light scowl made it's way over Dean's face. Very deliberately, he made his touch on more solid.

Yeah, this was so wrong and he was damn well completely freaked out. Dean damn well had every right to be, because this was his baby brother, who he'd practically raised. But if the twitching that had been going on in Dean's pants for a while now was anything to go by, then… well… yeah… He'd been going for that, sure, had let himself look at Sammy like that, but man was it ever wrong. So. Fucking. _Wrong_.

But Dean had made up his mind and this was what he had to do to save Sammy. That's all there was to it. You did what it took to get the job done.

With determination, Dean turned his touch into something he'd only ever done to himself before. Dean had quite a bit of experience of jerking himself off and it shouldn't be that hard to apply that to someone else, because he sure as hell knew what he liked.

Of course, he wasn't really surprised when nothing happened, to Sam anyway. He wasn't. Sam stayed soft and limp under his hands and Dean knew good and well that there was nothing wrong with his technique and if Sammy had been awake he'd be sporting a decent hard on by now. Make that if Sam was awake and had developed a sudden case of amnesia that made him forget that he was straight and that Dean was his brother and had actually let Dean do that to him.

It was a stupid thing to think of. If Sam was awake none if this would ever be happening, Dean would never have had to do this.

He'd already figured out that whatever was working its evil mojo on Sam, it was pretty damn effective, but he'd kind of hoped for some sort of reaction. And Dean would completely deny ever having had that thought. But it would have made him feel less like he was forcing this on Sam, would have made it seem like maybe Sam… well not that he'd ever want this, neither of them would under normal circumstances, but at least like Sam was getting some sort of pleasure from it.

But that plan was out and Dean would just have to suck it up and get it over with. His dick twitched in his pants and at least someone seemed to be okay with this. What the hell did that say about Dean?

Dean looked his brother over and it might have taken a bit longer than he'd meant it to. Maybe his eyes lingered a bit, but he didn't think about that. He didn't think about his brother's muscled thighs, didn't at all think about those firm abs rippling under his fingers, didn't think about Sam's huge hands… And, yeah, maybe he hoped that his brother was awake. Fuck, yeah. Sure. Of course he hoped his brother was awake. This wouldn't damn well be happening if Sam was awake.

He looked at his brother and really wished that Sam wasn't so damn huge. He was pretty sure that manhandling his brother's unconscious ass would have been easier if he was normal sized, or anything that wasn't freakishly overgrown. Dean didn't see this working unless he got his brother turned over and… His brain blanked out for a moment. He didn't need to think any further than that. Not at all. He was fine thinking just far enough to know what to do next.

Dean managed to get his brother turned over on his stomach. He stuck a few of the cushions littering the couch under his brother's hips, feeling awkward and a bit stupid. He really thought that the whole thing shouldn't have made his dick almost poke a hole through the front of his jeans.

What made it so god damned fucked up, like this whole situation needed more of that, it made Dean feel relieved. When he'd decided that he was going to do this he hadn't been sure he could. Not really. Hadn't been sure his body was up for it. Man, had he been off the mark there.

Dean pulled out his gun, slowly set it down on the floor, and picked up the bottle of lotion he'd gotten from the bathroom what seemed ages ago. It took him three tries before he finally managed to open it. He squeezed out a good amount and put the bottle back on the floor. Dean took a very deep breath before he leaned over his brother, smoothing the hand that didn't have lotion on it over one ass cheek. Sam, of course, didn't so much as twitch.

He considered Sam for a moment, took a deep breath and straddled the back of Sam's legs. He felt a bit stupid for having to be careful about the stupid lotion still in his hand as he did so. Hadn't really thought that one out.

He spread the lotion over his fingers and smoothed a hand over Sam's ass again, petting him. Dean realised distantly that he was trying to reassure Sammy, as if that made some sort of sense.

"I'm sorry Sammy," he whispered quietly.

Dean had done anal before. When it came to sex there wasn't all that much Dean hadn't given a go, except you know, with women. Women with breasts and pussy and a distinct lack of dick. So he sort of knew what he was doing, what he was supposed to do. But sort of having an idea was sort of nothing at all like how real this all suddenly felt. It made Dean feel a bit like maybe he wanted to throw up and a little bit like maybe he should hurry and get done with the prep.

Sam's muscles didn't tense, of course they didn't. Dean tried to see the upside in that; at least it would make the discomfort less he thought. Maybe that would have been good if Sam had been awake… and again, this really wouldn't be happening at all if Sam was awake.

Dean kept petting Sam with his other hand, making small soothing motions against Sam's hip. It didn't really make him feel better about what he was doing, but it kinda helped and he was just fine with keeping on doing that even if it was a bit useless.

Dean did as thorough a job as he could with stretching Sam out. There wasn't exactly any clues from Sammy, so he might have been a bit overly cautious, but that was just fine. He didn't want to hurt Sam any more than he had to, didn't want to hurt him at all. So Dean took his time, making sure that Sam's passage was nice and slick and loose.

Dean had been ignoring the attention his dick had been demanding for awhile. By now his jeans were feeling anything but comfortable. But there sure as hell wasn't going to be any more nudity than was strictly necessary.

He sat up a bit, fumbled at his jeans and managed to get them open somehow with slippery, shaking fingers. At least there was no one to see how Dean was suddenly about as smooth as a teenaged virgin. He was usually better at this, so much better, but then usually it wasn't his brother lying under him.

Dean let out a small sound of relief when his erection sprang out of his pants. That part of him was more than definitely on board with this. He pushed his pants down enough so that they wouldn't be in the way and leaned over to fish up the bottle of lotion from the floor, as he did so his aching hard on brushed against Sam's ass and Dean hissed in what almost sounded like pain.

He felt clumsy and awkward as he spread the lotion over his erection. And _god, _that felt just a bit too good. Dean finished as fast as he could, coming now would be a very bad thing. Not to mention that it'd be embarrassing as all hell, but considering the circumstances embarrassment was probably not Dean's biggest worry.

Dean smoothed a hand over Sam's hip and down over his ass and didn't give himself time to reconsider. He moved faster than he'd meant to, but Dean didn't really think he could have done it any slower.

It felt good. This wasn't supposed to feel any kind of good.

"Sammy," he moaned low in his throat, the name slipping out without conscious thought.

If he'd been thinking at all anymore Dean would have realised that it was a good thing that he wouldn't last long at all. Would have known that his hands on Sam's hips were holding on tight enough to bruise. Would have realised that he was wishing that Sam had been more than a life sized Sammy doll under him.

"Sammy," he moaned again and "sorry," and "oh, fucking god," and "love you." The words were broken and desperate and Dean was too far gone to notice he was even saying them.

Dean came down from his orgasm to the sound of lazy applause, his dick hanging out of his pants and his brother nowhere to be seen.

"What the hell?"

"Nice show honey," Ellen's voice drawled. "Very nice." The tone was honey sweet and lazy and was suggesting things that made Dean feel beyond awkward.

He made a frantic grab at his jeans, pulled them up as fast as he could, shoving his still tender dick back inside. She might be some sort of evil she witch or something, but she still looked like Ellen and damn it if he could face her with his dick hanging out and knowing that she'd probably seen exactly where he'd been sticking it a moment ago.

Awkward didn't even begin to cover this.

"Where the fuck is Sammy?" Dean asked the moment he'd managed to get things back in place. Sammy was all that mattered anyway.

"He's awake of course," she told him, leaning a hip against the back of the couch and giving him that 'are you completely stupid' look again.

Dean scrambled of the couch and backed up a few steps. He really needed some space between himself and this Ellen look alike that was still wearing the damn fairy outfit. And had just watched Dean fuck his brother. Yeah, space was good. Space was fucking excellent. And also got him closer to the weapons he actually had with him this time. He was thinking gun, that was good. Didn't need to be close to her for that. Nothing wrong with the machete either really, except that it was still over at the door and there was no way he could reach it now.

Fuck, the machete was awesome and getting at her with it would be fucking fantastic if she'd just looked a little less like Ellen. And even with the disturbing resemblance he was really looking forward to damn well killing her already.

"Oh, sweetie you're not going to kill me," not-Ellen told him with a smile that was all gentle admonishment pasted over sharp edges.

So either her weird mojo included mind reading or Dean was just being completely obvious about wanting to get his hands on a weapon.

"Yeah?" He asked her, angry defiance written into every line of his body.

"Oh, you're just the sweetest thing, aren't you?"

It sort of knocked the wind out of his sails when the thing kept reacting like that. She could at least have the decency to act like Dean was some sort of threat. He wasn't even going to think about the possibility that maybe he really wasn't, because he really, really needed to kill this thing.

Dean was trying to figure out the quickest way of getting the gun from the floor when not-Ellen gave a sigh and waved her hand. Pink sparkles trailed from her fingertips and the gun vanished, leaving only an afterimage of those same sparkles before they too blinked out.

If she wasn't a trickster, then at least a close cousin or something. Some sort of pagan god anyway. Had to be. Because this required imagination and your everyday supernatural creature was much more direct than any of this had been. She'd been playing Dean from the beginning.

"Now, will you pay attention?" She sounded a bit exasperated, but her lips were curved up into a fond smile that was painfully familiar.

"What, don't want me to be distracted from your next sick little fairy tale?"

"Not mine, honey. I'm just using what's here."

Dean's mind blankly refused to understand what she was implying.

"Dean." Not-Ellen's forehead creased into a frown. "Don't you go trying to be stupider than you are. This," she swept her arm out in a semicircle, which probably meant to indicate the house and, well other stuff that was around them. It seemed like that sort of gesture. "Is all you. I just use the things I like."

"Let's just cut the bullshit," Dean told her. "Because there's no way I'd ever think of…" he faltered, didn't know how to describe what had happened just moments ago. "I'd never do anything to hurt Sam."

The air of fond indulgence that she'd had going suddenly vanished.

"I'm not going to explain this to you Dean." Her posture straightened and there was anger there, something alien behind the façade of mischievous humanity. "These are thoughts, memories, dreams and ideas. Yours all of them and you can recognise each and every one of them if you want to. I put together a different picture from them, but it's still all you. This is your dream Dean Winchester."

Dean suddenly had no trouble at all being completely and utterly aware of the fact that this thing was not Ellen, wasn't anything human at all. It looked at him with eyes like the night sky, unknowable and endless behind the soft brown of Ellen's gaze. Fury radiated from it and Dean knew exactly why people had used to fear the wrath of gods.

Also Dean told himself, for future reference, pagan gods had mood swings from hell. Not that he had any proof that she was one, but shit he'd bet his favourite knife that he was right about that. Dad had given him that knife.

"Yeah, well… fuck that." It wasn't the best comeback he'd ever thought of, but his mind was still reeling from the orgasm and the following burst of adrenalin. He was under a lot of pressure

She shook her head in exasperation and it was like she shook of the alienness as well. She settled back into her human face and gave Dean a small smile.

"It's just a dream honey, but that doesn't make it less real." All the anger was gone and she was all warmth, smiles, and faint amusement again. "It's time to wake up now." He almost wanted to call her look compassionate, but that was a load of crap. Dean knew that human mask wasn't her.

She gave him a small wave and Dean's eyes snapped open.

They'd stopped at a roadhouse two days away from the little nowhere town Dean was doing his very best to forget. The food was decent. But Sam kept looking at him with a small worried frown and that look he always wore when he was trying to figure something out, the same look he'd been giving Dean for the past two days. The cheeseburger had tasted like cardboard and grease and Dean had choked it down with suddenly tasteless beer.

He'd eaten all of it, because Sam was already freaked out as it was and there was no need to give any more reasons for that look he kept giving Dean. To be fair, Sam had every reason to be freaked. Because Sam had woken up from the dream that wasn't a dream with no idea what had happened, but with bruises on his hips and, Dean suspected, sore in places Sam wasn't going to mention to his big brother. Then they'd found out that the whole town had skipped a day.

Dean had told him that he'd been trapped in a dream and that he'd barely made it out, but he'd left out the details. (It was a dream, how much did Sam expect him to remember?) There was nothing that would ever make him tell Sam what had happened. But he had told Sam about not-Ellen, forgetting to mention the whole looking like Ellen in a porn movie part, and what Dean suspected she was. Then, to Dean's own surprise he'd convinced Sam that maybe this once they should just let this one go. And by convince he meant he'd told Sam that Sam could stay and do all the research he wanted, but Dean was so out of there.

He didn't exactly blame Sam for worrying, even without the unexplained bruising. It wasn't like Dean to leave a job unfinished. Hell, Dean had been all set to kill that evil bitch for what she'd made him do. It wasn't like the Winchester's hadn't taken on things that they probably shouldn't have stood a chance against before and so what if Dean had started to suspect that she was a bit stronger than the monsters they usually faced. But there was no way he could ever risk Sam finding out about the dream.

Dean swallowed the last of his beer and stood up. He told Sam he needed to take a piss and walked to the rest room, locking the door behind him.

The note wasn't very long and was written on plain white stationery, it smelled faintly of roses. Of course it did. The script was surprisingly sharp and angular, not the flowing cursive Dean had almost expected, but still oddly feminine. Then again that might just have been the fact that it was signed with a small drawn heart followed by "Your Fairy Godmother."

Dean had found the note in his jacket after the day spent inside his head, tucked away for only him to find. He was almost grateful for that. Grateful that Sammy hadn't seen it, not that it really gave anything away.

_Be careful, honey. _The note said in neat, sharp letters. _Even without you poking around and interfering you're too lovely to pass up easily. And there are things worse than me out there. Sweet dreams._

It sounded too friendly, like they knew each other or something. Like she actually gave a fuck beyond getting her own twisted rocks off on Dean's suffering.

Dean flicked his lighter open. The piece of paper crumpled to ashes and he let the last pieces of it fall into the washbasin. Soon the last pieces swirled away with the rust flecked water.

He didn't look at himself in the mirror as he turned away and walked out of the bathroom to rejoin his brother and pretend that nothing at all had changed.


End file.
